


Blame it on Allen

by pulangaraw



Category: Life/Standoff
Genre: Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-03
Updated: 2009-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:30:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pulangaraw/pseuds/pulangaraw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for omphale.<br/>Poems by Allen Ginsberg.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Blame it on Allen

**Author's Note:**

> Written for omphale.  
> Poems by Allen Ginsberg.

**Blame it on Allen**

 

Matt found the first poem on his desk on a Monday morning, three weeks after Emily had finally packed her stuff and left for New York. He didn't mind as much as he'd thought he would. Their relationship had died slowly – without them noticing it for a long time – and then Charlie had stepped into Matt's life and things had become a lot more complicated and a lot easier.

He looked at the scrap of office paper.

_If I had a green Automobile  
I'd go find my old companion  
in his house on the Western ocean.  
Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!_

_He'd come running out  
to my car full of heroic beer  
and jump screaming at the wheel  
for he is the greater driver._

Matt had no idea how Charlie had managed to get into the FBI building to place this note on his desk - or who he'd gotten to do it for him - but he was sure this was Charlie's work. It practically screamed of Charlie.

Matt folded the piece carefully and put it in his pocket.

###

Matt didn't meet Charlie very often, their respective jobs made it hard to find the time. Not to mention all those things Charlie had going on on the side that Matt never asked about. Theirs was a friendship built on stolen moments, late-night emails and occasional phone calls. There was something between them, a spark that Matt couldn't deny, and sometimes he wished for more time, more meetings, more closeness, more...

He found the second poem a week later, written onto a napkin and tacked to his front door.

_I feel rotten.  
I would sit down with my servants and be dumb.  
I spent too much money._

Matt pulled the paper off the door, went inside and called Charlie. When he finally went to bed it was three in the morning.

###

Sometimes Matt felt like punching Charlie in the face. Not that he ever did – mainly because Charlie usually wasn't around when Matt felt this particular urge. Which was part of the reason why Matt wanted to punch Charlie in the first place. Charlie was never really there. He talked about being in the moment, being here and then vanished for days without any warning. It drove Matt crazy.

The fourth poem appeared on Matt's windshield two months after the first.

_A naked lunch is natural to us,  
we eat reality sandwiches.  
But allegories are so much lettuce.  
Don't hide the madness._

Matt smiled and carefully tucked the paper into his wallet.

##

Their first kiss was an accident. Matt had been leaning forward to say something, his voice straining against the noise of the club. Then Matt's lips had brushed the side of Charlie's mouth as someone bumped into him from behind and pushed him forward too. The funny thing about it was that they hadn't been able to stop kissing afterwards. It had only been short kisses, lips brushing against lips only to part again a second later; neither of them having the nerve to take it any further. When he'd finally gone home Matt's lips had been tingling with the taste of Charlie's skin.

Three day's later he found poem number nine on his pillow.

_But then, Kiss Me Again  
in the dim brick lounge,  
muted modern music.  
Where shall I fly  
not to be sad, my dear?_

He wasn't even annoyed by the fact that Charlie had been in his home. He just took the paper and put it with the others.

###

At some point, Matt gave in and googled the snippets Charlie kept leaving in odd places. He found the author and read through some of his works. Just to see what it was all about.  
Matt left his own snippet in Charlie's suit pocket, five months after he'd found the first piece, and hoped Charlie would find it at the most inopportune moment.

The thought made him grin.

_bodies locked shuddering naked, hot lips and buttocks screwed  
into each other  
and eyes, eyes glinting and charming, widening into looks and  
abandon,  
and moans of movement, voices, hands in air, hands between  
thighs,  
hands in moisture on softened lips, throbbing contraction of  
bellies  
till the white come flow in the swirling sheets_

The next time they fucked Charlie kept whispering the words into Matt's ears.

##

The last poem – number 25 – turned up inside the card attached to Matt's Christmas present. Charlie stood quietly in the doorway, obviously not watching him as he read it.

_The weight of the world  
is love.  
Under the burden  
of solitude,  
under the burden  
of dissatisfaction  
the weight,  
the weight we carry  
is love.  
Who can deny?  
In dreams  
it touches  
the body,  
in thought  
constructs  
a miracle,  
in imagination  
anguishes  
till born  
in human --  
looks out of the heart  
burning with purity --  
for the burden of life  
is love,_

Matt got up and walked over to Charlie. He wrapped his arms around the other man and kissed him gently.

“I love you too,” he whispered.

 

The End


End file.
